Mirrormere
by Lasgalendil
Summary: Gimli is a down on his luck Dwarf with a recent bad break up, and Legolas is a lonely selkie desperate for a handsome Dwarf husband in a world where selkies are only considered myth. They want to make it work-but what about their families? Selkie Gigolas Hobbit AU in a Modern Middle-earth setting. Matchmaker Fíli, Kíli shenanigans, Brothers Ri and multiple side pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**Out on the beach to clear his head, post-break up Gimli inadvertently stumbles across an ancient—and rather amorous—creature.**

* * *

Break ups were hard enough without nosy cousins in the mix. It was bad enough having to crash at Fí and Kí's place like a fucking kid, but not having any of his stuff, having to bum clothes, pipeweed, rides to work...it was the little shit like wearing his cousin's pants or puffing his cousin's pipe that drove him crazy.

And the worst part—the very wort part—was that asshole Ári Aíns'son kept drunk texting him.

 _miss u_

 _Then maybe next time don't fuck your ex_ , Gimli glowered sourly out at the Mirrormere bay. He'd come here to clear his head (escape his cousin's awkward conversations and insistence on setting him up with a Mjølnr profile) but even the sight of the waves and starlight couldn't clear his sour mood. He really ought to delete the texts, block his calls—but part of him (a whole fucking lot of him) still loved the son of bitch. He'd made the Mahal-damned beads, for Durin's sake!

 _we should talk come over_

...followed by a rather inviting photograph of Ári and his naked arse in their—his now, _his_ —bed.

He'd been wrong. The worst part—the very worst part—was that so much of him was ready to forget, forgive, and go straight back and fuck him. Ári was a built Blacklock, strong shoulders, sculpted arse, arms like Mahal's himself, skin like obsidian. The damned beautiful fuck could have any Dwarf he wanted, and he'd chosen Gimli, a down-on-his luck Longbeard with no money to his name. He would never—could never—do better than that cocksucking cheat. "You deserve better, Gimmers," Fí had told him flatly. "You deserve better."

...but he didn't, not really. And he'd never get anything better, either.

 _i'm waiting_

Durin's saggy left testicle! Ripped chest and lean hips, one hand caressing his cock.

...heart leaping in his chest, he was half-way through typing his reply before rational thought caught up with him.

"Mahal damnit!" Gimli swore and tossed the phone far from him. It felt good to fling that unfaithful bastard far away, but the not-so-distant splash was far from satisfactory. But then, to his utter surprise, the phone came sailing back to land with a plop! in the shell-strewn sand before his feet.

For several seconds, Gimli only stared at it, that final image of his ex now crusted with coarse sand. What. The Actual. Fuck.

"Fuck you and your fucking—fuck!" he threw the phone with vehemence into the rushing surf. Let the water carry the damn thing away. Wash away the memories. He was done, alright? Done. Mahal only knows he'd probably die single and alone anyways but at least he'd keep his pride.

Gimli grunted at the waves, a curse, perhaps farewell, then turned, resolved to move on with his life, pathetic as it was.

...Something hard, wet, and suspiciously shaped like that Mahal-damned phone slapped him straight in the back of his head.

"FUCK!" he roared, and whipped it right back into the waves.

Too angry, too tearful to question how in Mahal's name how or why, but that fucking phone lapped gently ashore right at his feet. "MAHAL-DAMNIT!"

Five more times he threw it, cursing and crying and pleading and praying. And five more times the damned thing came impossibly, inexplicably back to him.

A dream? Sign from Mahal? Going fucking insane from lack of sleep and crying his eyes dry every night in bed alone? He didn't know. But he was worn. Exhausted. Weary as no Dwarf should be. He sighed. Knelt. Pocketed the damn thing with indifference. He'd come here to Mirrormere for what—answers? Peace? Did he even really know?

They said it was where Durin found his crown, first became King. But that was a long fucking time ago, and the Dwarves hadn't had a damned King in generations. They said it didn't reflect anything but starlight, but sometimes—at the right time, for the right person—the eddying waters would show you what you wanted most.

Answers? Peace? Love? Well, he'd found neither.

 _Fuck the waves. Fuck the starlight. Fuck this phone and fuck my life_ , he thought, and turned his back to the ocean once more. Began the long trek home.

"Daro! Daro! I— _wait!"_

And suddenly on the empty beach there was a man.

...No, Gimli thought, blinking through his tears. Not a Man. Whatever—whoever—this was, it wasn't a Man. Not in the slightest. Naked. Bare. Skin as white as moonlight, iridescent as the inside of a shell. And his hair—his hair!—flowing like the living spray of starlit waves. "You— you don't want me?" It—he—asked.

"I—er," Gimli grunted eloquently.

"You called me." The creature explained.

[You know what it is. You know the name.]

[But you can't say it.]

[It's impossible. They don't exist.]

And Gimli looked down at the salty, sand-spotted phone in his palm, half-expecting there to be a missed call. "You threw it in," the stranger insisted. "Seven times. Seven times _exactly_. You summoned me."

"Sorry—excuse me—but wha—who exactly, are you?"

"Seven times," he said again, counting on those long, slender fingers. "That's how it's done, yes? So here I am! I am yours!" Bloody breakup. Playing with his mind more than he thought. "Who are you?" the naked stranger prattled on. "Well, I know you you are—you are mine, I am yours— I have seen you, watched you, followed you—"

[...well. Wasn't that terrifying.]

"So I know. But I don't know really who—your—name? Yes. Name. That's it! I have called you many things, of course, _melon, gwador, mathron, mathader, hervenn, meleth, melethron_ —but those aren't your names. Name. Whichever," he laughed. "I don't know. But I am here now! I am yours! And now I will know!"

Gimli's exhausted mind couldn't keep up. And his eyes just couldn't stop fucking staring long enough to form coherent thought. "Um, sorry," he mumbled. "Who are you?"

"I'm yours! Of course you can't call me that—unless you want to—do you want to? I don't mind. You may call me yours. But I suppose you could also call me Legolas. That is my name. Well, one of them. I'm also Laegolas, go-Thranduil, Thranduilion, Halloth, we have many of them. But I am called—well, it's what I call myself? I suppose. Yes. I suppose then it is my name. Or one of them. But you may call me that, or anything else, really," he rushed in one long breath. "I am yours!"

"Losing my bloody mind," Gimli sat in the sand. "Losing my Mahal-damned mind."

"I—you seem, I don't know—sad?" the thing—it—he—plopped abruptly down beside him, sprawled naked and gorgeous. "Why are you so sad? I thought—I supposed, I suppose—that I would cheer you up? But you still seem sad to me. I could cheer you up! Look! I can sing. Or dance. Or both. I can kiss you, if you like. Or other things! Oh—oh! could we do other things?" Those luminescent eyes lit up even more as he laughed. "I have never done the other things. Not before. Not yet. Not with anyone—could I do them with you? Now? I am rather curious. I should think I would like to. I don't mind. Whatever you want. We can try them!"

"Um, sorry. Are you high? Drunk? Lost?"

"Lost? No. No I am not lost. I have come to shore is all—to find you!" he rolled to his stomach, kicking white feet in the moonlight, bare arse peeking through the curtains of his hair. "And now here you are! What fun we shall have!"

He stared.

The creature—the _selkie_ —smiled beautifully back. "You are mine now," he sang, crawling forward on his belly to nuzzle against his leg, kissing bare, hairy skin. "I am yours!"

And it was at this point Gimli decided that he was dreaming. If his unconscious mind had decided the best—perhaps only—way to get over Ári was to screw a gorgeous mythological creature on the beach who'd popped out of the waves begging to be fucked by him shortly after receiving his ex's sexts, so be it.

...Mahal knows he'd seen stranger porn as a young Dwarrow in Ered Luin.

"I, um, for the love of Mahal..." he said thickly, face flushing. "I suppose we could do the 'other things', if you want to."

And that expression of happy, child-like playfulness turned to lust so fast it made his heart stop. "Mine," the selkie purred, slinking up to claim his lips. "Mine. You are my Dwarf now. Mine forever."

* * *

Sindarin courtesy of RealElvish dot net and Elfdict dot net. Original constructions/reconstructions marked with *.

 _melon (n): friend_

 _gwador (n): " sworn brother", used for non-blood relatives_

 _*mathron (n): matha-(v., stem) "to comb" + -ron_ _(suff., masculine)= "[male who] combs"_

 _*mathader (n):_ _matha-(v., stem) "to comb" + daer_ dêr (Silvanized Sindarin dialectal changes) der (contraction mutation of much-used word or phrase) _"bride-groom"= "[male] comb-mate"_

 _hervenn (n): husband_

 _meleth (n): love_

 _melethron (n): meleth+ron(suff., masculine) "[male] lover"_

Laegolas (name): Original Sindarin form of Silvanized Sindarin "Legolas", likely a chosen-name or mother-name

go-Thranduil (name): Silvan dialect "Son of/begetted of Thranduil", likely a father-name and/or title

Thranduilion (name): Pure Sindarin dialect "Thranduil's Son", likely a father-name and/or title

Halloth (name): Silvan dialect "Hiding Flower", likely a milk-name given during pregnancy or shortly after birth


	2. Chapter 2

**Back in Erebor, Gimli's convinced himself it was all a dream...but the day might hold some surprises of its own.**

* * *

Gimli Glóin'sson woke up in his bed (well, couch), having undoubtably had the best sex dreams of his entire life.

...granted, they were—in a word— _odd_. Not in a kinky BDSM sort of way, more in the your partner sucks you off then proceeds to catch eat a raw, wriggling fish in front of you with the same soft mouth that had been around your cock only moments before way. Only now it was full of teeth and blood, and his breath smelt and tasted like fish but Mahal-damnit, you kept kissing him anyways, because he was so fucking gorgeous even when shredding living flesh sort of odd sex dreams.

It was, he was sure, due to his sudden and rather forced celibacy. After Ári's betrayal just days ago he hadn't had the energy or will to even think about jacking off. The ache had just been too raw. But now—? Well, now he was acutely aware of just how much he missed it.

[Sex, that is.]  
[That rat bastard Ári Aíns'son could go die in a hole, for all he cared.]

From the ruckus outside his impromptu bedroom in Fí and Kí's game room he knew his cousins were up and about, getting ready for work, and he'd have to go out and face them...and the inevitable discussion about getting his stuff back and don't you dare even think about going back to that piece of trash and have you thought about where you're going to live and what in Mahal's name happened to your phone. But for now, for just a few precious seconds longer, he wanted to drift off and remember whatever weirdness his brain had made up overnight—a selkie? Swift, sleek, sex-starved and trippingly anxious and eager to fuck _him_ —him, of all Dwarves!

...he supposed after being unceremoniously tossed aside from the most serious relationship of his life, his subconscious knew he needed the ego boost.

So Legolas. At least he thought that's what the creature (did it matter? The damned beautiful boy didn't fucking exist) called itself. And despite the recent break-up and all the heartache inherent in growing up a Longbeard he didn't think he'd ever been sadder than waking up on the shores of the Mirrormere early in the morning before the sun had even risen to find himself alone, and realize that the best fuck(s) in his life had just been a dream.

[Also, how the hell much had he been drinking? Falling asleep on the shore, weird and alarmingly vivid sex dreams...it was like being a Mahal-damned 30 year-old all over again.]

He closed his eyes with a sigh, tried to picture the exact shade of Legolas' hair, skin, the wicked flush that crept over the selkie's cheeks and chest with every kiss and every stroke...the exact feel of that strange yet-oh-so-soft beardless mouth moving rhythmically against him—

"Oy!" That bugger Kí hammered against the door. "You'd better be awake, clothed, and alone in there!"

"Mahal damnit, you hairless Hobbit!" Gimli shouted back. "I'm up!"

The door swung slowly open, Kí grinning like an idiot as he waltzed in. "So—?"

"So what?"

"So Fí says he caught you stumbling in at like, four this morning and you could barely bloody walk. Soooo?"

"So what?"

"So EVERYTHING!" his idiot cousin threw up his hands. "So sex? Yes? How was it? With who? Are you seeing him again—you didn't throw in the towel and hook up with a girl, did you? Because 'my bi-curious cousin Gimli' doesn't sound nearly as cool as 'my _gay_ cousin Gimli—'"

"Shut up, you." Fí growled. "Let the poor Dwarf have some peace, will you?" Then he smiled and dropped the big-brother act he'd been forced into the moment Uncle Frerin had met his untimely end. "But yes. How was it? No need to say anything—the bloody grin on your face is answer enough. I'm just glad that Mjølnr profile I set up for you worked out so well. I told you you needed to find someone. A little casual rebound did you good."

He opened his mouth to argue, then promptly shut it again—leaving the Firebeard in him furious. But what could he say? 'Thanks for the congratulations, boys, but I accidentally fell asleep on the beach and had the best wet dreams of my life?'

"Er..."

Fí's blonde mustaches stretched in a maddeningly smug grin. "That good, huh? Well I've got some other good news for you, too: apparently Nori and Dwalin got all your stuff back, and Kí and I have decided you're staying here—no point in arguing, that's final—until you get back on your feet."

Gimli gaped. "How the bloody fuck—"

"My guess is blackmail and/or sheer brute force, plus some B&E, to be honest," Fí shrugged. "Ever since the whole noodle incident I've learned not to question these things."

"But where?"

"Storage locker. Nori and Ori'll be by later with the keys. And Ki's taking the day off work to drive you over and get what you need."

"Why Kí?"

"Because, my dear idiot, I don't miss work for anything short of an actual emergency and no one cares if Kí does since he's either late or not there half the time anyways." That brat Kí didn't even have the decency to defend himself, just shrugged oh-so-helplessly and batted his best puppy eyes.

"I love you. _Both_ of you," Gimli finally choked in gratitude. "But if you ever tell anyone I said that out loud I'll bloody shave your beards while you sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

**Nori puts his less-than-legal skills to good use.**

* * *

Sometime later they were in the car. He didn't really pay attention, mind kept drifting in and out of conversation and Kí's impromptu karaoke. Just a week ago even he had everything all planned out, spent months saving up, weeks in the forge making the perfect beads...and now? Now he was crammed in the back of a second-hand station wagon Nori'd won in a poker game against Nasty Bill from Ferny's Refurbishing.

[To make matters worse, there was at least a 100% chance the git had cheated, too.]

[But that was Nori for you—any sight of profit and all morality went out the Mahal-damned window.]

...crammed in the back of Nori's station wagon and day-dreaming about a certain _selkie_ , that is. He only came to when Dwalin's large hand clapped him on the back with far more force than necessary, accompanied by raucous laughter.

"And he won't even tell us who!" Kí chimed.

"It weren't that lyin' bugger, were it?" Nori asked.

"No," Gimli assured them, flushing. Not a week ago he'd planned to marry—and now none of his closest friends would dare to say his (ex) lover's name. "No it wasn't—him."

"Never liked 'im, anyways." Nori said toothily into the rearview mirror. "Nope. I told's you, I did —'E's a Blacklock. Nothin' but trouble from the start."

" _I_ did," Ori sighed.

"Hush, you." Dwalin grunted, eliciting a shy smile from the youngest brother Ri. It was an odd sight, the two of them, all his life Dwalin had been the Mahal-may-care cousin, and now watching him melt (er, at least be somewhat civilized?) was a strange experience.

"Oy!" Nori shouted from the driver's seat. "None o' that! Dori'd have a fit if he saw you two love birds a-flirtin'."

"What Dori doesn't know won't hurt him," Ori objected.

"Fuck Dori." Dwalin grumped. The two families had known each other for years, and Ori was far past the age of it being unseemly, but Dori fussed over him constantly like a Dwarrodam the first time she caught her 20 year-old daughter sneaking out.

"All I's sayin' is—best keep it in the clan," Nori continued. "An' you—you got Firebeards _and_ Longbeards to chose from! Ain't no need to go lookin' elsewhere. 'S trouble. All I's sayin'."

...and coming from Nori the notorious jewel thief, swindler, and all around vagabonding vagrant low-life, that was saying something.

"Don't listen to him, lad," Dwalin chuckled. "He's still upset about that Stiffbeard—what was her name again?"

"Amira," Ori piped in. "Only it was her brother and father who—"

And so Ori and Dwalin launched into the story they'd all heard a hundred times over, Nori escaping that house in Harad by rappelling down the wall with the poor girl's bedsheets, Kí adding his usual colorful commentary while Nori seethed silently all the way to his new storage unit. Gimli knew what they were doing, distracting him from Ári, and as tired and humorless as he felt at the moment he was deeply grateful. They were a strange sight, the thief, his perpetually kid brother, the adorably irresponsible cousin, and the grizzled veteran, but Mahal-damnit they were _his_ strange bunch, and he wouldn't trade them for all the gold in Erebor.

They managed to fix his mattress on top of the car with duct tape (or "Dwarvish engineering", as Dwalin called it), and he fished the rest of the necessaries out bit by bit. Laptop. Charger. Boxes and boxes of unfolded clothes. His small forge, tools, and several heavy cases of raw materials. Still couldn't find his bloody ax, though, the great-ax Adad's Adad had carried at Azanulbizar. He rummaged through hastily stacked cardboard boxes and no small share of stretched out garbage bags, only to stop aghast.

"What in the name of Durin's sagging left—"

"Don't let Dori hear you," Dwalin grunted.

"The fuck is this?" Gimli gaped.

"Well, that there's what we types in the business like t' call a wee bit o' revenge," Nori winked. "Nothin' illegal, mind."

...revenge was an understatement. The box was overflowing with what Gimli now suspected was all the toilet paper, underwear, shoelaces, condoms, and lightbulbs Ári's apartment had held. And suddenly he was on his arse in a tight, unairconditioned storage unit surrounded by memories of the life he'd once hoped to lead, laughing until he cried.


	4. Chapter 4

**Nori puts his less-than-legal skills to good use.**

* * *

Sometime later they were in the car. He didn't really pay attention, mind kept drifting in and out of conversation and Kí's impromptu karaoke. Just a week ago even he had everything all planned out, spent months saving up, weeks in the forge making the perfect beads...and now? Now he was crammed in the back of a second-hand station wagon Nori'd won in a poker game against Nasty Bill from Ferny's Refurbishing.

[To make matters worse, there was at least a 100% chance the git had cheated, too.]

[But that was Nori for you—any sight of profit and all morality went out the Mahal-damned window.]

...crammed in the back of Nori's station wagon and day-dreaming about a certain _selkie_ , that is. He only came to when Dwalin's large hand clapped him on the back with far more force than necessary, accompanied by raucous laughter.

"And he won't even tell us who!" Kí chimed.

"It weren't that lyin' bugger, were it?" Nori asked.

"No," Gimli assured them, flushing. Not a week ago he'd planned to marry—and now none of his closest friends would dare to say his (ex) lover's name. "No it wasn't—him."

"Never liked 'im, anyways." Nori said toothily into the rearview mirror. "Nope. I told's you, I did —'E's a Blacklock. Nothin' but trouble from the start."

" _I_ did," Ori sighed.

"Hush, you." Dwalin grunted, eliciting a shy smile from the youngest brother Ri. It was an odd sight, the two of them, all his life Dwalin had been the Mahal-may-care cousin, and now watching him melt (er, at least be somewhat civilized?) was a strange experience.

"Oy!" Nori shouted from the driver's seat. "None o' that! Dori'd have a fit if he saw you two love birds a-flirtin'."

"What Dori doesn't know won't hurt him," Ori objected.

"Fuck Dori." Dwalin grumped. The two families had known each other for years, and Ori was far past the age of it being unseemly, but Dori fussed over him constantly like a Dwarrodam the first time she caught her 20 year-old daughter sneaking out.

"All I's sayin' is—best keep it in the clan," Nori continued. "An' you—you got Firebeards _and_ Longbeards to chose from! Ain't no need to go lookin' elsewhere. 'S trouble. All I's sayin'."

...and coming from Nori the notorious jewel thief, swindler, and all around vagabonding vagrant low-life, that was saying something.

"Don't listen to him, lad," Dwalin chuckled. "He's still upset about that Stiffbeard—what was her name again?"

"Amira," Ori piped in. "Only it was her brother and father who—"

And so Ori and Dwalin launched into the story they'd all heard a hundred times over, Nori escaping that house in Harad by rappelling down the wall with the poor girl's bedsheets, Kí adding his usual colorful commentary while Nori seethed silently all the way to his new storage unit. Gimli knew what they were doing, distracting him from Ári, and as tired and humorless as he felt at the moment he was deeply grateful. They were a strange sight, the thief, his perpetually kid brother, the adorably irresponsible cousin, and the grizzled veteran, but Mahal-damnit they were _his_ strange bunch, and he wouldn't trade them for all the gold in Erebor.

They managed to fix his mattress on top of the car with duct tape (or "Dwarvish engineering", as Dwalin called it), and he fished the rest of the necessaries out bit by bit. Laptop. Charger. Boxes and boxes of unfolded clothes. His small forge, tools, and several heavy cases of raw materials. Still couldn't find his bloody ax, though, the great-ax Adad's Adad had carried at Azanulbizar. He rummaged through hastily stacked cardboard boxes and no small share of stretched out garbage bags, only to stop aghast.

"What in the name of Durin's sagging left—"

"Don't let Dori hear you," Dwalin grunted.

"The fuck is this?" Gimli gaped.

"Well, that there's what we types in the business like t' call a wee bit o' revenge," Nori winked. "Nothin' illegal, mind."

...revenge was an understatement. The box was overflowing with what Gimli now suspected was all the toilet paper, underwear, shoelaces, condoms, and lightbulbs Ári's apartment had held. And suddenly he was on his arse in a tight, unairconditioned storage unit surrounded by memories of the life he'd once hoped to lead, laughing until he cried.


End file.
